Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 859 by Angharad

Boxing Day–for the uninitiated, the day after Christmas Day, was when servants were given their Christmas boxes or presents by their employers. It has absolutely nothing to do with two full grown men pulverising each other in a square made up of ropes, which they call a ring–it has to be a British invention, and it is in its modern form which are fought to the Queensbury rules. The Marquis of Queensbury was the man who caused Oscar Wilde to be jailed for having a sexual relationship with his son, Bosie.

We had been invited to the hotel at Southsea by Henry and Monica for luncheon and to use the facilities–swimming pool or gym if we wished. The kids were all up for the pool and Simon fancied a workout in the gym. Tom fancied getting shot of the lot of us for a few hours so he could drink his Scotch and sleep afterwards. He’d also get a chance to do one of his curries with some of the left-over turkey. Sort of left-overs and hangovers, each to his ain, I suppose. I bought him a couple of bottles of his uisge beatha (water of life), so I shouldn’t criticise–and what else do you give someone who is seventy, has all he needs and most of what he wants? Obviously–something to eat or drink. Simon gave him a large and very smelly Stilton cheese, which I made him keep in one of the sheds–not my fridge. Hey, it’s only his house, it’s my kitchen.

Stella and the baby, who increasingly resembles a little pudding, are coming with us–so Simon is borrowing Tom’s car, and will take the boys and Stella and Pud, and I’ll take the girls in mine. Should be fun–part of me would rather be home with Tom and chilling out, but I’m a parent now and responsible for half the waifs and strays in Portsmouth by the feel of it. I enjoy having them really, I’m just very tired.

The plan was to get breakfast over with and then do a big clear up from the day before. My role was slave driver in chief, and it never fails to astonish me why everyone else isn’t as motivated as I am.

Simon cleaned out the fireplace, or would have done except it was still alight–the fire, so he stuck a log or two on it and with a bit of encouragement from the bellows fan, got it going again–Tom would be glad of that later.

Trish vacuumed–she’s good at that, Livvie and the boys polished and dusted and Meems helped me in the kitchen putting the pots away. I then mopped the floor and made the oldies a cuppa and drinking chocolate for my child labourers. We disposed of a few mince pies too.

Billy sat alongside me, and I asked him if he was enjoying Christmas. His response was emphatic to say the least.

“W-h-a-t? Oh yeah, Aun’ie Caffy, it’s totally, like brill.”

One day children will speak the same language as their elders, but not at the present time, sadly. However, I did understand some of what he said and I think caught his drift, so to speak.

“How was it different to last Christmas?” I was trying to learn about his past and about him.

“Ten times berrer, easy.”

“What was last year’s like, then?”

“Okay, we got a few prezzies, but like no bike, like you an’ Uncle Si give us.”

“What about the food?”

“We ‘ad turkey, but not like the way you done it. That was totally awesome.”

Maybe I should get this in writing so I can show it to my detractors when they criticise my cooking–as happens from time to time. I usually put down the mutiny by asking the complainants to take over the duties of cook–they always withdraw the complaint–cowards.

“How long have you been in the home?”

“Two years, I fink.”

“What happened to cause that?”

“Me mum started drinkin’ after she split up wiv me dad–he used to ‘it ‘er. She loved ‘im though an’ missed him, I ‘spect. She’d go down va pub and forget about me, va neighbours complained ‘cos I’d be vere on my own, and va council took me inta care–like, ended up at ve ‘ome. Vis is berrer, much berrer, best Christmas I ever ‘ad, fank you Aun’ie Caffy.”

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself.”

“Me an’ Danny...” he said looking at the floor, finding the carpet suddenly very interesting.

“What about you and Danny?” I knew what was coming but I had to hear him say it, even though I knew I’d reject him.

“We couldn’t like stay ‘ere, could we, like va girls do?”

“I don’t know, Billy–the arrangement was you’d stay until January the fourth, by which time the home was supposed to have found an alternative to you having to go to Wantage. It isn’t in my power to say yes or no–it’s up to the council and the charity who run the home.”

“Well, like Trish was sayin’ vat Livvie was like, stayin’ wiv you when ‘er parents died and she’s still ‘ere.”

“It wasn’t quite like that, Billy, her parents asked us to look after her before they died. The council agreed and that’s why she’s still with us, I’m her official guardian and foster parent.”

“Can you be me an’ Danny’s foster mum or grandian?”

“Guardian–it’s a term used by the courts to designate a suitable person to look after the interests of the child on its behalf.”

“Oh?” his glazed look showed me he hadn’t understood a word of it.

“You didn’t understand, did you?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, the court–that’s a judge, a very wise and powerful man or woman, decides if the person asking to be the guardian or protector of the child, is suitable to do the job.”

“Do vey pay you ven?”

“Not really, they do give some expenses, but it’s never enough to do the job properly. The three girls go to a private school, which Simon and I pay for.”

“Cor, me mum never paid for me to go to school, is vat why I’m stupid?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Well I’m no good at sums or writin’, not much good at readin’ eiver.”

“That isn’t always a sign of being stupid, Billy, there are all sorts of reasons why children aren’t as clever in schools as we’d like, and some of that is because of the teachers or their home lives. You’ve already said, home was difficult.”

“Yeah, it like was.”

“Maybe, when I get the girls to read to me, you can come along too and practice with us. Would you like that?”

“I dunno, vey might be berrer van me.”

“Does that matter, if it helps you?”

“Dunno,” he blushed and skipped off to play on his bike with the others.

“Looking at the next intake are we?” Simon said sarcastically as he took Billy’s seat.

“What d’you mean?”

“Well it’s obvious, you’re eyeing up the next candidates for fostering, aren’t you?”

“No, I just told him I couldn’t say that, and I offered him the chance to come and sit in with the girls when I do the next reading session with them.”

“Oh–I got it wrong then, I just thought you were getting into maternal mode again.”

“Yes, you did get it wrong, the boy was telling me about his previous home life and how much he’d enjoyed this Christmas.”

“So you weren’t getting all soppy then?”

“No, I was paying him attention. Children need attention from their carers, whether it be their parents or locums.”

“Yeah, okay–don’t go all pious on me–just let me know before we take on any more permanent liabilities, won’t you?” he slipped away to supervise the kids on their bikes before I could think of a suitably robust reply.

“You know what his problem is, don’t you?” said Stella

“I wish I did.”

“He’s jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

“Of your relationship with the girls.”

“But he has a good relationship with them too, they love him to bits and he idolises them. So how can he be jealous?”

“You do girly things with them.”

“He does other things with them, that dads do.”

“But he can’t do boy things with them, can he?”

“No but he can do that with our two guests?” I suggested.

“Exactly.”